Moonlight Sonata
by JennaLynne
Summary: Esme's story. From the time Carlisle treated her as a young girl until we meet her in Meyer's Twilight. The untold truth's of abuse, and loss in a dreamer who knew only how to love.
1. Book I

I

_"I've dreamt in my life dreams that have stayed with me ever after, and changed my ideas; they've gone through and through me, like wine through water, and altered the colour of my mind."_

_-Emily Brontë Wuthering Heights_


	2. 1st Movement: Allegro

_Author's Note: To all my loyal Paige and Arielle fans: I'm not done with them, so never fear. But I just had this idea running through my head to get Esme's story down on paper. She is without a doubt the character I identify most with, and I just wondered if I could do her justice. It's going to be a multi chaptered story, though I'm not sure exactly how far i'll take it. In theory, I'd like to tie it into the modern day Twilight tale (you know, the one with Bella and Edward...) But we'll see..._

_I won't be one of those authors that blackmails my readers into reviewing, so I'm going to try a different tactic. I'm going to beg. If you read, please review. Feedback makes my whole day better. So please. Click the button. Type a little. It will make me smile._

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. All characters are property of Stephenie Meyer. There, I've said it, don't sue me.**

* * *

**_1915_**

In my heart, I was still a child. As an evening breeze whipped through the air, one far too warm to be of any comfort, I swung my leg up, climbing the tree, in search of cool wind that seemed to be ever elusive. The higher I got, the more the air became saturated with the scent of the pine needles of the tree.

"Amid fields of clover,

T'was just a little over  
A hundred years ago,

A handful of strangers,  
They faced many dangers,

To make their country grow."

I let the new popular song carry notes high into the sky. I was sixteen without a real care in the world. The twilight surrounded me, pinks and purples intertwining like lovers. I ran a hand through my wavy brown hair, my arm catching on a branch, knocking loose a fair amount of dry, dead needles. Sap stuck to my skin, and I reveled in it, giggling. I have always been an idealistic person. Seeing good where there is none, chasing after dreams that I could never achieve. My mother would call it immature. But in this moment, I couldn't care.

I heard her voice off in what seemed like a distant land. She wasn't calling my name, so much as bellowing it.

"Esme Anne Platt! Dinner! Now!"

I rolled my eyes, but turned to lower myself from the tree branch that had become my refuge. My grip faltered, and I slipped, fell to the hard, hot earth. The grass was too scratchy on my back to be of any comfort. The pain coming from my leg was sharp, and it was almost making me dizzy. I tried to push myself up, imagining what my mother would say about the bruise I was sure this had left. The sight I found nearly made me sick to my stomach.

My leg was broken. I couldn't doubt this fact when I could see the snapped bone jutting outwards. I cried out for the one person I knew could help me. And I kept calling for her as the tears began to run down my face, hot and fast. I knew I was too old to be crying, but I couldn't help myself.

Things were moving in and out of focus. Whether this was a result of the pain, or the tears, I did not know. The next thing I could see clearly though, was my mother's harsh disapproving eyes, though they were flooded with a hint of concern.

"What did you do?" she asked me softly, clicking her tongue.

"I fell out of the tree." I whispered, gesturing wordlessly to the towering evergreen before us.

"What have I told you about climbing trees?! You're too old for this nonsense, Esme!"

"Mom, I know." I sighed, still fighting the urge to empty my stomach contents on the grass next to me. "Please don't lecture me now. Can you save it for later? Perhaps when my bones aren't sticking out?" I asked her with a raised eyebrow. Inside me, I knew this was no place for sarcasm, but it seemed I couldn't help myself. All I wanted was a mother who understood, and accepted me for who I was. Not one who, while I was laying on the ground bleeding, felt the need to inform me about the demits of my childlike behavior. Don't misunderstand me, I love my mother. But when I have children, it's going to be different. They won't feel like they ever need to become someone they're not. Especially just to please me.

My family was fortunate enough to own an automobile. It was decided that the quickest way to get me to the hospital would not be to call for the horse drawn ambulance, but to let my father drive me there. He turned the crank a few times, double pumping the clutch, and the engine roared to life. The sound was deafening. I closed my eyes, began to hum a familiar tune in my head, willing myself to ignore the pain, as well as the headache the car was giving me. We found ourselves in the Columbus hospital faster than I could have expected.

There was a lull in the emergency room. A quiet period between the hectic accidents of the daytime, and the drunken antics of the nighttime. I was admitted instantly. The nurse gave me a sweet sort of smile, assured me that a "Dr. Cullen" would be in to see me in just a moment. I forced a grin -for it was not easy to look happy when I still felt excruciating pain tumbling in my body - but I thought her nice, and she deserved some form of recognition for her unasked kindness.

She didn't lie to me. Within an instant, a man was backing his way into the tiny room. Clearly, he was carrying on a conversation with someone in the hallway. Slowly, he turned to face me. The smile he gave me was gentle; I was momentarily floored by him. He seemed to be far too young, at least in my eyes, to be a fully qualified physician, yet I inexplicably trusted him. His blonde hair swept away from his face in a graceful wave. His skin was a pallid ivory color that appeared smooth and flawless to the touch. But his eyes where the thing that held my attention most. A deep halcyon color, they burned with an emotion the likes of which I'd never seen before. Curiosity raced through my system. Exactly what, was driving this man? Why, did he seem to care?

When he spoke, his voice was warm, fluid like a fine wine. As if looking at his face wasn't enough. "I'm Dr. Carlisle Cullen, Miss Platt. Why don't we get started? Can you telling me what happened?"

I smiled as genuinely as possible. "It's Esme." I muttered. "I… sort of fell out of a tree."

"How did you manage that one?" he asked me with a wink, and after a quick glance at my chart, turned his focus to my leg.

I shrugged. "I guess I slipped."

"Now, you seem to me to be a better climber than that…"

"Usually I am." I felt the flame rise hot in my cheeks. "I suppose I was distracted."

"And what could've possibly distracted an expert tree monkey such as yourself?"

"Music" I said softly. "And the sky. It looked like a painting tonight. I was enthralled."

Dr Cullen was no longer focused on my leg. Instead, he was staring at me with his strange amber eyes, apparently hanging on my every word. I wondered, exactly what, about me, could have him so strangely fascinated.

"It was…wasn't it?" he muttered wistfully. "All the colors. They just…melted together…like choreographed ballerinas."

I nodded, still trying to understand this man, how he seemed to have this strange insight into my head. "It was indeed." I mused.

His attention had returned to my leg, he was scrutinizing the bone carefully. "Well, it seems you have a rather clean break here."

His medical jargon was like a foreign language to me. "Is that…is that good?"

He smiled again. "As far as broken bones go, that's about as good as it gets."

"Oh. Well. Good then."

"So, tell me more about your adventures in the tree, Esme. You mentioned music?" He spoke, though he didn't lift his eyes from my injury this time.

"My father, he was playing this new song on the victrola this morning, "America, I love you". The melody just got stuck in my head" I had more to say, but my thought was interrupted by the renewal of pain in my leg, and a fresh cracking sound.

Sympathetically, Dr. Cullen looked up at me. "I had to re-break it so it could set correctly. It's easier to accept the pain when you don't know its coming."

I wanted to smile, but I felt if I opened my mouth, I might throw up. So I said nothing. He raised an eyebrow, glancing at me skeptically.

"Someone will be in here in just a moment to fit a plaster cast on you."

"Thanks." I mumbled.

The corners of his lips curved upwards in a crooked smile that offset his eyes. "Don't let the sky distract you next time you're up in a tree."

"So you don't think tree climbing is something best reserved for childhood?" I blurted out before thinking.

"Of course not!" he laughed with fake outrage. "Why even I've been know to climb a tree to two in my day."

I felt better instantly, just knowing there were no limits on imagination. In this moment, nothing could stop me.


	3. 2nd Movement: Accelerando

**_1917_**

At eighteen, I was to emerge from the quiet obscurity of my home, into the fully blaze of the fashionable world. I was to make my debut on the third of January, at a magnificent ball. I was not looking forward to it with the impatience, anticipation, and delight most girls did. In fact, I was not looking forward to it at all.

Although, I'll admit that when I had been confined to the house as part of my recovery, I'd been forced to do some unwanted growing up. My mother had put it bluntly last week.

"You're no exquisite beauty, Esme. If you ever intend on getting married you're going to have to prove yourself worthy."

"When I do marry, it's going to be for love." I'd told her, still thinking idealistically.

"And as I've told you before, no one will give you a second glance. Not when there are truly stunning girls, like your friend Cassandra running around." I winced at her mention of Cassie, for she was truly correct in her use of the word stunning. She was tall and slender, yet not thin; perfectly formed, exquisitely fair. Her hair, which she wore in a profusion of long ringlets, was of a very light brown inclining to yellow. Her eyes, a pale blue so clear and bright that few would wish them darker. "You need to have charm, class, and skills. Make it worth their time."

I wanted to roll my eyes, stick out my tongue, and adamantly tell her she was lying. That her utter falsehoods would come back and haunt her. But deep in my soul, I knew this was not the case. I knew she spoke only the truth, and was only trying to make me see the reality of the situation. So instead, I'd simply sighed.

Now, days later, I somewhat regretted my rash decision to appease her with words. For she was fussing over me currently, individually removing each bobby pin from the curls I'd so securely wound last night. Instead of mimicking my best friend's style, which had been my goal, my own chestnut hair fell in a messy cascade of waves down my back.

As if on cue, my friend bust into my bedroom, a whirlwind of blonde hair, her laugh ringing through the room.

"I don't know why you bother with pin curls, Esme. Your hair is too soft to hold the style."

I scowled, unwilling to admit I was only attempting so in order to achieve her hairstyle. "Thanks for the encouragement."

"Are you still bitter about this party?"

My mother smiled kindly, and answered for me. "She's being quite acrimonious about everything that doesn't involve climbing trees or jumping into lakes."

"I have not. I just happen to believe that a debutant ball is an outdated custom. One I want no part in."

They ignored me. "Mrs. Platt, have you tried hair tongs? The heat might help the curl remain in her hair…"

"Actually, I haven't, Cassandra." She mused and disappeared, I assumed to track down the instrument of torture masking as a beauty tool.

"Why, are you always taking her side?!" I glared at my best friend, demanding an answer from her.

"Because," she exhaled heavily, clearly annoyed with me, "there are just things we have to do in order to get what we ultimately want."

"I don't have to get married to move west and teach!"

Cassie wrinkled her nose and laughed. "Move west! There is nothing west Esme! Marriage isn't a prison sentence! It means you can stop wearing those stupid long johns. You can get fat, and people won't care. Your freedom, your future, it's all here! Why would you give this up for the life of an old maid?!"

"I'd give it up if it meant I could be happy, Cass."

"You think you could find bliss out in the middle of nowhere?"

I bit down on my lip, searching for the right words. "Do you remember, that summer, when we were ten, and I taught you how to dive?"

She nodded reverently. "Of course I do. I got in so much trouble for ruining my best pinafore."

"But do you remember how it made you feel?"

I watched her expression change from confusion, to acceptance. "Free. It made me feel free. Like I could do anything."

"I want to feel that way again. _That's_ what will make me happy. And I know I won't be able to do that here."

Cathy sat on the floor, looked up at me, genuinely curious. "Why not? Your family…your friends… are all here. Could you find peace without them?"

"I don't know." I admitted. "But honestly, I feel like I should try. Could you imagine, Cassie, the wind at your back, the smell of the ocean consuming you? Never having to answer to anyone but yourself. I need that."

"How… how are you going to get there? Your father's forbidden it."

"I'll figure something out…Come with me" I blurted suddenly. "Wherever I go…feel free again."

She shook her head. "I'm as good as betrothed to William." A soft look filled her face, a warm smile tugged at her lips. "I want that, Esme. He'll make me content, and I'll live a comfortable life."

"I'm not worried about comfort, Cass. I don't just want to be content."

She opened her mouth to make a retort, but was interrupted by the return of my mother, brandishing a coal heated curling rod.

"Let's see if this works…" she whispered to herself, and wrapped a few strands of my hair around the metal.

"I've got to go get dressed myself. I'll see you later?"

I laughed. "I would imagine so, as it's my party…"

"I thought you were trying to forget that?"

"I _am_. But it's rather difficult when no one will let me."

With a chortle, Cassie vanished from my sight, leaving me alone with my mother.

* * *

As I descended the staircase, I could almost say I felt pretty. Amazingly, we'd gotten my hair to hold the curl, and had piled it delicately atop my head. My skin was porcelain, a perfect peaches and cream complexion offsetting the chocolate brown of my eyes. I could see Cassandra across the room, her arm linked through that of a man who towered over her. He was a handsome, heroic looking young gentleman; I could understand perfectly what the shallow Cassie saw in him. If this was indeed her William, then I was sure he would make her happy. I shot her a smile, she winked back. A wordless conversation, a mark of the strength of our friendship.

I was still pondering this when I caught sight of him. Because something of the daylight still lingered, and the moon was waxing bright: I could see him plainly. He had a dark face, with stern features and a heavy brow. He was past youth, though it couldn't be said he'd reached middle aged. Perhaps he might be thirty-five. His straw coloured hair fell in a line, while jade green eyes pierced my own. He reminded me of someone, though I wasn't sure who.

The mystery man was at my side, I wasn't quite sure how he'd gotten there.

"Miss Platt. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

I smiled as he lifted my hand, gently brushed his lips across it. "Charmed." I said softly, offering the proper response. "Mr…."

"Evanston. Charles Evanston."

His name did ring a bell. A friend of my father. He had money, invested in railroads or something of the sort. I didn't care.

_I was captivated by him._


	4. 3rd Movement: Legato

**_1919_**

My feet were killing me. And made me imagine traveling back in time, hunting down whoever had invented stiletto heels, and beating the crap out of him. What was the point of them other than throwing a woman off balance, making it next to impossible to run, and inducing foot cramps? The question occupied my mind as I tuned out the bulk of the party conversation buzzing around me like a hive of drunk hornets.

The flimsy excuse for a dress left most of me exposed. And I glittered. You couldn't have diamonds hanging all over you and blend.

Of course, as I'd learned, during these past few months of whirlwind courtship, you couldn't go to any sort of snazzy function with Charles and blend. The only advantage to the ridiculous damn shoes that I could see was the fact that they boosted me up so that Charles and I were eye-to-eye.

They were stupendous eyes, bold and brilliantly green. A look from them could give me a tingle in the belly. The rest of him didn't suck either, I reflected. The blonde silk fall of hair framed a billion-dollar jackpot of a face. Even now, as he glanced at me that sculpted, delicious mouth curved up in a slow, secret smile.

"Darling." Charles took a glass of champagne from the waiter passing them, and handed it to me.

Since the glass he'd traded it for had still been half full, I interpreted it as a signal to tune back in.

_Okay, okay, _I thought. I was here as Charles's girlfriend. I curled my toes in the shoes—or attempted to while I flicked a hand at the short, choppy crop of brown hair I'd recently taken the scissors to myself. Old priceless diamonds dripped from my ears. It wasn't as if he demanded I gear up like this and attend excruciatingly boring parties every day of the week. He was smooth about it—and as the man had more money than God and nearly as much power and position—the least I could do was play the part when we were doing the public couple thing.

"I don't get parties like this. People standing around. Talk, talk, talk. Why do they have to get all dressed up to do that?"

"To show off."

I thought about that over another sip of wine. "I guess that's it then, huh?"

He simply smiled while I sighed. It made my parents happy to see me with him. And I can't pretend it wasn't nice to please them so effortlessly.

"What, exactly, is the function of tonight's event?" I whispered, leaning into his shoulder.

He smiled, and waved at someone across the room. "A fundraiser of sorts." He said softly, appeasing me "There's Anton. I need to snatch him away and bring him over to meet you."

I took a long, long drink of champagne.

"Meet this Anton, mingle another five, then I'll take you home," Charles said, the faint hint of Ireland in his voice, "and slip out and away."

I felt a tingle of joy, right down to my numbed toes.

"Seriously?"

"I never intended to stay above an hour or so."

"Seriously?" I repeated.

He laughed, wrapping his arm around my shoulder again. "Indeed. I'd never lie to you _a ghra_. And besides, there's something I've been meaning to ask you."

But before I could get another word in, he'd vanished. Returning moments later, towing a portly, mustachioed man somewhere on the shady side of sixty. On his arm like a whippy vine twined a woman well shy of thirty with full, pouty lips, a bored expression, and a short red dress that covered very little of her expansive breasts. I was disgusted with her.

"Anton, my girlfriend, Esme."

The man extended a pudgy hand, which I took graciously.

"Anton is one of the financial backers for the new cross continental railroads."

"Ah." I finally managed, not really sure what else to say.

"Charles wants to send the rails to California."

Now, _this_ intrigued me, I turned to Charles. "Really?"

"My Esme has a fascination with California. She wants to move west."

Anton smiled, though I could tell it was forced. "Nothing will become of the west. You're much better off here."

"Well." Charles interrupted. "I think its best we be off. I just wanted to say goodnight."

Anton tipped his head, dropping into a low bow. "Until tomorrow then," and he left with a flourish, the girl trailing behind him.

"Forward then, love?"

I linked my fingers through his, nodding. "What was it you wanted to ask?"

We stepped outside, a cool breeze whipped through the air, I shivered unconsciously. In a wordless act, Charles slid his jacket off his own body, and laid it over my shoulders. "I've been doing a lot of thinking lately."

"About?"

"You. Me. Us." He whispered.

"And?"

"And I've been wondering…well I've been hoping that…" he knelt down, reached into the pocket of his pants and drew out a tiny silk lined box. "I love you Esme. Will you marry me?"

My breath caught in my throat. It felt like I'd spent all my life building up to this moment. I believed in all my heart that this is what would make me happy. I was myself with Charles. And that was all I'd ever wanted out of life.

"Of course." I whispered, still breathless.

Nothing could ruin this moment. Forever starts now.


	5. 4th Movement: Crescendo

**_1920_**

It was raining the morning of my first fight with Charles.

The kind of rain that comes down so heavy it sounds like the shower's running even when you've turned it off. The kind of rain that makes you think of damns flash floods, and arks. The kind of rain that tells you to crawl back into bed, where the sheets haven't lost your body heat, to pretend the clock is five minutes earlier than it really is.

And the whole thing with that first fight was that it could have been completely avoided; had I simply let Charles have things his way. After all, that's part of a wifely duty - making ones spouse happy - but me being me, too headstrong for my own good, I couldn't let it go.

I wanted a simple wedding. Had elopement even been an option, that's the one I'd have picked, but out of respect for Charles, and for my parents, I never even brought it up. So all I wanted - all I asked for - was a white dress, and Cassandra. But he, on the other hand, wanted an elaborate hall with more people than I could count. He wanted music and dancing. My utter distaste for all things party related had me adamantly refusing. We sat in at my parents kitchen table, listening to the rain pound away on the roof. Restlessly, I crossed my legs, uncrossed them, and re-crossed them, waiting for Charles to speak. After what seemed like an eternity, he finally did. I've come to regard these words as the begining of the end.

"Darling, It's one evening. You only get married once. Having a ceremony with all your friends is not something you'll regret." he spread a bunch of papers across the table before me. Advertisments for dresses. Ideas for cake designs. I rolled my eyes.

"Isn't a wedding supposed to be the female's dream? Don't I get a say here?"

He waved me off. "Of course you do, Esme. Its just...a man of my position needs a suitable wife. And he needs other people to know his wife is a good match for him, that she's up to the task."

"Wasn't that the point of dragging me to all those parties I hated so much?" I pointed out, a hint of accusation in my tone.

"Well, yes" he began cautiously. "But the way to prove it most effectively is at the wedding. That means it will last."

"People will know we've been married! It won't be some big secret! I just don't want everyone and their brother there when it happens! I fail to understand your need to prove yourself to everyone."

"That's because you don't understand a man in my position. A man with prestige."

Despite myself, I laughed. "No, no, I could never understand you. Yet, I know you better than I know myself. For it was stupid of me not to expect this from you. All I want something quiet, something reserved. Am I really asking too much here?"

Ignoring my query, he diverted the subject. "Look, isn't it enough I'm allowing Cassandra there?"

"How gracious of you." I spat "Allowing my best friend to attend my own wedding."

"You know very well that she and I do not get along." He muttered

"That's your problem. And you haven't answered my question." I said coldly

"I don't think-"

Frustrated, I cut him off. "See, we've arrived at the heart of the matter. You don't think."

It happened in slow motion then. He raised his hand, and though I assumed he was going to slam it on the counter before him, still, naturally, I flinched away. So when the palm of his hand connected with my cheek, I wasn't quite sure how to react. The sound of the slap echoed in the kitchen of my parents home. We were alone, and for the first time since I'd met Charles, I wished we weren't. I felt a single salty tear slide out of the corner of my eye, and roll slowly down my face. It stung bitterly. Inside, I was screaming. hysterically crying, ready to kick and punch him right back, because if he wanted a fight, he'd damn well get one. But, for the first time in my life, I was rendered speechless. Part of me wondered if it had even happend. That I would open my eyes and find myself still in bed, awaking in a cold sweat from this nightmare.

I knew it was real when he spoke.

"Esme...I'm sorry." He wasn't even looking at me. Instead, he was staring at his hands, like they were a weapon he didn't realize he had. A dangerous one he was now violently aware of. "I don't know what came over me...I just... I'm so sorry love."

When I finally found my voice, it was shaky, and broken in pieces. The things I managed to say surprised even me. "It's...It's okay. I know you didn't mean it."

Reassured by my sudden forgiveness, Charles nodded. "I really didn't. It was a complete accident. It'll never happen again."

"No. No, I know it won't."

In the aftermath of the incident, he'd recoiled, and now he took a step back towards me. "If it really means that much to you, we'll have a quiet wedding. Just you and me."

I felt like a child, rubbing the tears away from my eyes. "It doesn't seem like such a big deal anymore." I whispered.

He nodded, and stepped towards the icebox, removed a chunk, and wrapped it in a dishcloth that had been lying on the table admist the rubble of wedding magazines. "Please don't let my stupidity ruin your pretty face." he muttered and handed me the makeshift cold compress.

I only did as he asked because my cheek _was_ starting to throb, and I didn't want to be in pain any longer. I was about to suggest he leave, that I needed a few hours alone, when I heard the front door creak open. And even before her lyric laughter rang through the house, I knew who was there. It took Cassie but a moment to find me, to enter the kitchen. (I say she entered, for when you look as she does, its impossible to simply walk into a room. Even subcounsiously, you always enter.)

But when she caught sight of me, her face fell. "What the hell did he do to you?" she immediately demanded to know.

"Nothing!" I rushed to his defense quickly. I could tell she didn't believe me, simply from the way her eyes grew longer. And as much as I hated the thought of it, I knew I would need to lie to her. "See, it was silly, really. There was a picture of a bridesmaid dress I liked in the Macy's mailer, and I wanted Charless' opinion of it, because you know, it would have to match his ushers tuxedos and stuff. So I jumped up to get it...and I slipped. I caught my face on the corner of the table. A total accident, product of my complete clumsiness."

She stared at me, then at Charles, the back at me, scrutinizing for a moment longer. "Well.... if you say so. I mean, I guess that does sound like something you would do..."

I forced a smile, exhaling, glad she'd bought the lie, but sorry I'd ever felt the need to decieve in the first place. Another uncomfortable silence took over the room, and I was glad when Charles broke it this time.

"On that note, Cassandra, I'll leave Esme in your capable hands. I've a meeting to attend, and I know she wanted to decide on her gown, something I'm apparently allowed no part of." Softly, he pressed his lips to the top of my head, a silent farewell, and took his leave from my home.

"So why did you give into him?" she asked me once he had left.

Perplexed, I set my ice aside. "I'm sorry.... what are you talking about?"

"This!" she yelled, and gestured wildly to the flyers and ad's littering the table. "You've never wanted a big wedding with a bunch of people you don't know! Stuff like that has always been my deal. So what gives?"

I sighed. "It occoured to me that I was making far to big of a deal out of this. I mean, the wedding is for both of us. And it only happens once. Really, I don't care, as long as I get to be with him. He wants this. Its not so much to ask that I give it to him. Actually, it was you that told me once that when you fall in love, you'll do anything to keep it. Be willing to do anything. Well, I am. And considering the whole future...it just doesn't come off as the big deal I always made it out to be."

"What happened to you?" She asked quietely "Going to parties...wearing diamonds....planning a lavish wedding. What's become of the headstong girl I always knew?"

"I'm still here! I've just... grown up a bit. Part of me realized that things can't always go my way. Some things are worth figthing over. Some are not."

"Yes, I agree. But this is taking it too far. You've become his lap dog, and I don't like it much."

"How dare you." I spat, anger spilling out with every word. "Where do you come off saying things like that? I'm happy making him happy. And to assume otherwise is just ludacris."

"Is it? I'm sorry Esme, but it hurts me to see you like this."

"You just don't like Charles."

"I don't." she admitted. "But only because of what he's done to you. Because you have a bruise on your face, and you're lying to me."

"I hit my head on the table." I repeated adamently. "Are you really going to let a man destroy our friendship? Can't you be happy for me?"

"I could if it didn't mean I'd lose you." She whispered, and vanished from the house.

I was afraid it was forever.


	6. Book II

II

_Lying is done with words and also with silence._

_ -Adrienne Rich_


	7. 1st Movement: PianoForte

* * *

Author's Note: Sorry about the last chapter. I meant to post this one right after it, but then I accidently deleted it and had to start all over. So, without further ado, the new chapter.

* * *

I think the thing that surprised me most was that Charles stuck to his word as long as he did. For he was never one that could be counted on to keep a promise. Unless, of course, it involved his work. Actually, it seemed the only one he was unable to keep a promise to was me. But our wedding went off without a hitch, if you didn't count the fact (and Charles didn't) that Cassandra hadn't shown up. I was left looking like a fool without a maid of honor because I'd refused to replace her.

I wondered, after Charles had whisked me away to California for our honeymoon, if he was only acting the way he was because I had spent the majority of my time bending to his every whim and need. But it was easier this way. For he seemed much closer to the man I had fallen in love with when I gave him exactly what he wanted. And while we were away, while it was just the two of us, everything was fine. I loved my husband, and I would make it work, I would prove Cassie wrong.

But when the facade of reality set back in, I learnt, I would only be lying to myself.

* * *

I crashed into the kitchen table as my husband shoved me, the hard corner impacting my hip. My shoes slid on the wet floor, squeaking as they scrabbled for a hold on the stones, screeching louder as they found none and allowed me to tumble to the floor.

"Pathetic!" My ears rang with the words. "Useless, worthless, idiot girl. So weak." A kick to the ribs again, then to the hip that was already injured.

I curled into a ball on the wet floor, arms protecting my face as the cold water wove through clothes to chilled my skin.

He left me alone eventually, but had insisted I finish mopping the floors, which was the chore that had started the entire fight. Apparently I had been doing it wrong. It was after midnight by the time I crawled into my bed, next to a person I was no longer familiar with.

I had tried to clean myself up a bit, showering to remove the blood. But there was nothing I could do about the hideous shades of purple bruises down my side, across my shoulders, the huge black mark on my hip.

If I had any hope of improvement for my second day in our home, it was quickly decimated by the screaming protest of my injuries as I got up to complete his husbands's next list of chores.

For the first few days, there were always more things to do, and each day it was harder to get out of bed. I didn't live in a body anymore, just a bundle of frazzled nerves sending constant pained cries through my brain.

By my fifth day here, there was nothing more to do around the house. The floors were scrubbed or swept, the rugs and curtains beaten, the silver polished, the furniture dusted, the windows cleaned.

It was just as well; as I was pretty sure I couldn't have dragged himself out of bed this morning. The pain washed in like the tide, each wave deeper than the last, never receding quite as far. It took too much effort to draw the air into my lungs, far too little for the air to be crushed out as my ribs felt the next wave of pain. One of my eyes was swollen shut; the other was buried in a pillow. There was nothing here worth seeing. I was freezing cold, so cold I thought I should be shivering, but somehow my broken body knew that trembling would hurt more. I was grateful that it knew.

The ringing of the telephone dispupted my thoughts, and I was grateful for the momentairy distraction. So, with more effort than I really wanted to expend, I forced my arm across the bed to the nightstand and gripped the phone, drawing it back close to himself.

"Cassie?" I murmured, knowing the chances of it being my friend on the other end were slim to none, as she hadn't even attended my wedding. But I longed to speak with her more than anyone else. I didn't open my eyes.

There was a long pause, but Cassandra finally spoke. "I don't know what to say."

"What do you mean?" I asked hoarsely.

"Well, I sort of want to ask if you're okay, but obviously you're not. I sort of want to ask you what hurts, but I'm afraid to know. I really want to beg you to let me get you out of there, but I already know what you're going to say."

"I'm just really tired, Cass," I whispered. "Just really tired."

"I guess I'll let you rest, then," she said softly. Then he gave in to temptation. "But please, Esme I can't stand seeing you like this."

"Just don't look. It's easier." and I let the telephone fall over face down on the mattress.

I wasn't sure if I went to sleep or just waited in darkness, nor was I sure if it mattered. But eventually, I let my eyes drift open to stare at the wall of my room. I thought for a long time about running away. I knew Cassie would help me, if I asked her, but I also knew that Charles would look for me there first.

And part of me thought that I hadn't given this marriage a fair chance. We'd gone but two weeks, and the first was nothing short of perfection. Maybe I was a stupid, lazy, weak girl. I'd need to learn to toughen up a bit.

So slowly, I stood, dragging myself to the empty hearth, and lit a fire. The roar of it warmed me. I sighed to myself before sitting down on the carpet, folding myself as small as I could. The flames tangled together, whittling away at the logs as paths of red-hot wood snaked their way through the roots of the fire.I watched minuscule starry sparks make their leap to liberation, only to be snuffed out the moment they wrenched themselves free of the inferno.


	8. 2nd Movement: Da Capo

A week and a half passed. July hovered expectantly at the end of the week, waiting to be recognized. June clung tightly to its remaining time, watching it crawl haltingly forward.

I lay in bed late that evening, watching the sun snake through my window and paint the floor. I watched as it oozed onto my dresser and wait there to be captured by the red horizon as the sun twitched lower.

There was nothing for me to do, save for sit in my room and wait to heal or wait to be hurt. I couldn't keep track anymore of what hurt, not really. There was just a general achiness surrounding me. But I could get used to that. It was almost easier, when I knew it would be every night, knowing when to expect the blows.

I sighed as I glanced at the clock's glaring hands. Charles would be home soon. I Ought to make myself presentable. One less reason for him to hit me. One more thing that wouldn't matter at all. I rolled out of bed quickly, then rooted around in drawers for clothes to wear.

I paced back and forth, ignoring the vague aching in my chest, and the soreness of the bruise that remained on my hip.

The heavy oak door downstairs crashed closed. "Esme!"

_Damn it again_, I thought mutinously. Still helpless to stop what was coming I opened the door to my room and began my descent. I didn't bother to hurry. I wasn't looking forward to this.

Charles met me halfway up the stairs, grabbing my arm and jerking me down four stairs so that we were eye to eye.

His eyes were black with hate, darkly poisonous, swallowing every ounce of my anger, feeding on it. I was less than three inches from my husband, vision blurring with Charles's visage.

There was unquestionably the scent of alcohol. Cheap tequila gave him power. Charles was in control, so completely in control, of both himself and me. Completely knowing, completely intentional.

"Are you happy now?" he breathed, his voice grating in his throat like the growl of a beast. He was powerful, crushing my' arms in his grasp, shaking me so hard my vision went black for a moment.

I was floating, slipping, falling back, legs collapsing underneath me, skull cracking against the edge of the stair under the thin carpet. My arm moved up, fingers threading into my hair, tangling the blood in.

Charles stared down at me, lips twisting into a snarl. His dark hair fell forward, unkempt. "You've fucking ruined everything!"

A heavy kick to the ribs, I could hear bone splinter, screaming like a shattered window. I tumbled down a few stairs, the carpet scraping at my exposed skin, my only protection a flimsy blouse. Each stair delivered another crushing blow.

I crumpled in a heap on the hard floor of the hallway, arms over my head. Heavy booted footsteps slowly tracking toward me. "Please, please don't…" I begged breathlessly, barely able to hear my own words.

"It's people like you who screw up the world!" Charles snapped, one boot connecting with my shoulder. "I nearly lost my job today. Because my wife is never seen in public anymore. There's rumors I can't keep my own home in check; that you've taken to gallivanting with men somewhere."

"I suppose you'd like your friends and co-workers to see what you do to me then?" I spat without thinking.

"You are pathetic! So fucking weak," Charles said, using one boot to roll me onto my back. He put his foot in the center of my chest, enough pressure to hurt, enough to make my lungs squirm for air. "Ridiculous."

Charles knelt next to me, fingers clenching at the collar of my shirt, pulling me up a bit. "You are a disgrace. And I'm going to make you pay!"

I felt cold suddenly, shivering so hard, every little muscle crying out. Darkness covered me, chilled and damp like the tiniest dungeon. My breath came in whispered gasps, head spinning.

Charles's face loomed out of the darkness. "Weak. Pitiful." Hands at my collar again, hauling me upwards, because I couldn't move at all.

"Please, please just stop…"

"Had enough?" Charles whispered, hot breath filling my ear.

"Yes," I stammered

"Too bad!" he shouted, his fist slamming into my face, my head snapping back from the force. "You've had enough –" another punch – "when I say you've had –" an elbow to the stomach, folding me in half – "enough!" I was slipping back into blackness, crumpling to the ground.

"Please, just leave me alone!" I cried. "I didn't do it!"

"Didn't do it?!" Charles roared. "Didn't do it! You did it all! You're the reason for all of it!" he lowered his voice to a whisper. "Prove it. Make love to me."

His lips came down over mine, chapped and hot. He reeked of the homemade moonshine, it burned my mouth, I felt the vomit rise. My small hands clawed at his huge ones, my feet kicked out. As he tore my skirt, forced himself inside me, the emptiness flamed through my lungs, crumpling them like worthless parchment. I cried out helplessly, my heart thumped hard, pounding out a rhythm in my ears. "Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead."

I was going to die. And the last thing I would see would be Charles's face.


	9. 3rd Movement: Glissando

Author's Note: Okay, this is going to seem weird, I condensed chapters nine and ten because I need to end "book two" with the next chapter to come, and in order to do that, I would have needed to change the format of the entire story. It was eaiser to do this. I hope I haven't confused anyone...

* * *

From the upstairs window, I watched the storm build. Black clouds boiled in a black sky, crushing every inch of sunlight with their weight and temper. The wind howled like a feral wolf hunting for blood. Needle bright spears of lighting slashed and snapped and shot at the jagged rocks surrounding the cliffs beyond my home. The witchy scent of ozone stung the air before thunder exploded.

Since the last argument between Charles and myself, I decided to put forth a better effort, to make things easier for him. And maybe for me as well. This meant that I walked around and smiled when I was supposed to; I pretended to listen when my husband's co-worker's wife talked about the hardships of marriage; I even sat in the speakeasy with the other women of my "status". But while they laughed at the waitresses' hairstyles (or lack thereof), I studied my hands and wondered whether anyone else noticed that if the sun hit your palm a certain way, you could see right through the skin, to the busy tunnels with blood moving around inside. Corpuscles. I slipped the word into my mouth and tucked it high against my cheek like a sucking candy, so that if anyone happened to ask me a question I could just shake my head, unable to speak.

There had been flowers on my kitchen table that morning. Lilacs. No words of apology, because he knew that none could comfort. I'd been unable to face Charles, and I'd waited until I was sure he'd gone from the house before dragging myself from our bed. I'd felt the tears well behind my eyes, because I knew he _was_ sorry. Somewhere in his soul, I knew he didn't mean to hurt me, but as I brought my hand to the bruise on my cheek, I couldn't help but wonder why he did. And I knew it was bound to happen again.

Then I felt guilty. For what sort of woman hated her husband?

I swept the floor, although, it didn't need to be done, I washed the coffee cup and the plate from the meal Charles had made for himself, all before catching sight of the calendar. I was fully aware of the date, given I'd been counting the very seconds since the last beating Charles had given me – but seeing it in print gave the day a whole new meaning. I dropped the sponge back into the soapy water, began to count back the days using my fingers. I counted once, twice, again.

_Sixty-two_.

I'd been married for sixty-two days. I'd not been a virgin for sixty-two days. And I'd not had my period for over sixty-two days. Instinctively, my hands flew to my abdomen. I couldn't be pregnant. As I felt the first fat tear leak out of the corner of my eye, I laughed at myself. Of course I could. It was entirely possible, highly probable.

A baby.

I marveled at the idea of a child. Someone I could love unconditionally, without limits, without bounds, who would love me right back. Suddenly I wanted this child like I wanted to breathe. And I was beyond sure now. But the idea of a family brought about just as many questions as it did answers. How could I justify bringing a child into my home? How could I possibly consider subjecting this innocent life to the violence that consumed my life now?

The answer was surprisingly simple. I could not.

But, how could I leave now?

* * *

The storm hadn't worn off by the time I returned from the market. I stowed the groceries in the icebox, and turned to put the change into the little jar Charles liked me to keep it in. As I glanced at the shining silver in the palm of my hand, an idea crossed my mind, an escape plan started to form. Not for myself, but for my unborn child. And as the notion started to take form, I felt the life return to my body, the excitement brew in my eyes. For the first time since I'd been married, I was myself again, and I reveled in the thought of it as I pocketed the loose change.

* * *

In evening when Charles returned home, he was on time, which shocked me nearly as much as the fact that he was seemingly sober. I'd decided not to say anything about the baby until I was sure of my plans, convinced of his.

"Esme," he whispered my name on a breath.

I connected my deep brown eyes with his flaming green ones, felt a renewal of the love, of the reason I'd married him. I took a step closer to my husband.

"Yes, Charles?"

"I need to go home."

His words stopped me in my tracks. Go where? This was his home.

"I…I don't understand." I finally managed to spit out.

"_A ghra_, there is a war in my homeland. A war my father is fighting. This is not an old mans fight. I must help him."

Ireland. Charles was leaving. And I?

I had an escape.

* * *

If I said it was surreal to have been on my own for the first time in my life, I'd be greatly misrepresenting the truth. It was thrilling to be alone.

The day Charles left for Ireland, I'd fled. No longer would I be his punching bag, my child wouldn't grow up in a house filled with violence. It had taken me months to get this far, and there was no turning back.

I was California bound.


	10. 4th Movement: DeCrescendo

Author's Note: This is going to seem weird, but I condensed the previously seperate chapters nine and ten into one chapter (now chapter nine) because I need to end "book two" with this current chapter, and in order to do that, I would have needed to change the format of the entire story. It was eaiser to do this. I hope I haven't confused anyone... and because of the condensing, If you want to review, and you had previously, it won't let you unless you do it annomyously. (hint, hint, smile smile)

*giant exhale* again, sorry about all that, just structure wise, it got messed up because I was in a rush to update last time, I didn't realize exactly where I was at. Thanks for stickin with it.

And major, major, thanks goes out to Permanent Rose, because without her, this chapter probably wouldn't have happened. Thanks girl. Seriously. :)

Okay, I'm done now. I promise, enjoy.

* * *

California was everything I'd hoped for and more. It was easy, to find a job teaching, as they were in desperate need. No one questioned my story about my husband being dead - killed in the war – and neither did they make an effort to intrude on affairs I claimed to be personal.

I'd been there for a week and a half, when Nathaniel came to me. He was a beautiful baby, the most beautiful ever. I know all parents think that of their children, but I was so sure it was true. Though he was small, he had a small patch of dark hair that sat atop his head, and the clearest blue eyes you could ever imagine.

He was the first person who ever completely belonged to me.

I vowed to myself he'd have the world. The best clothing, the best schools, and someday, a true family. I'd see that he would be raised with kindness, not a trace of his father would be found inside my perfect son.

But as quickly as he'd come, he was taken away. All the hopes I'd had, everything was dashed, and my world, the world I'd worked so hard to build without my husband, came crashing down around me.

I'd only lain him down for a nap. Children need naps. Only Nathaniel didn't wake up from his. I remember collapsing into tears when the doctor pronounced him dead, he might as well have pronounced me as well. Because as long as there was Nathaniel, I think I stood a chance at survival without Charles. He gave me something to fight for, and beyond that, something to hold onto.

Every once of hope, every bit of happiness was robbed from in that one moment when I saw his pallid, lifeless face. I picked my small baby from his cradle and held his limp body to my bosom, praying that by some miracle, he might somehow wake.

But he never did.

The days that followed only grew more hopeless and bleak. I couldn't bear to move Nathaniel's empty cradle from the side of my bed. Moving it would confirm that he was truly gone.

Only a week after his death, I woke up only to find I barely had the strength to rise from my bed. I couldn't remember the last time I had eaten; my head spun from the lack of nourishment. I reached out to clutch the side of Nathaniel's cradle, only an arm's length from my bedside. I rocked it gently.

Back and forth.

Back in forth.

I couldn't stop the stream of tears that followed. I was surprised I even had any left to cry. I choked on my sobs, my stomach heaving, but I only managed to throw up air. There was nothing left, physically or emotionally.

Nothing.

Suddenly it didn't matter that I had escaped from Charles' brutal clutch. It didn't matter that I now had my own life, a decent job, a house of my own. What was the purpose of all these things if I had no one to share them with?

No purpose. Nothing.

There was nothing left.

I would've gladly wasted away to nothing beneath the covers of my bed, but I knew that would take days of heart wrenching pain. I wanted it to be over now.

With every last ounce of strength I could muster, I rose from my bed. I didn't bother to dress or tame my wild hair. What did it matter if I left this world in my best dress or my thin nightgown?

I pulled a fraying shawl around my thin shoulders and slipped on the first pair of shoes I could find.

And then I left. I left without even so much as a backwards glance at my small home, at the place where I had ultimately ended up.

None of that mattered anymore.

The rain was razor-thin and mean with cold, a miserable drizzle that sliced through the bones and into the spirit. It turned light blanket of dust that regularly coated the ground into a mire of mud, and the dawn light into a gloomy smear on the sky.

I didn't know where I was going, but my subconscious seemed to be leading me somehow. I ended up at the edge of the steep cliff, the wind whipping around me as a stared down the slope of the rocky crag.

I gulped, suddenly feeling a wave of terror course through me. I sat down on the rocky ground, ignoring the sharp jab of the stones. My heart rate accelerated as truly realized what I was going to do.

But as I thought of my life, the panic dimmed.

_There's nothing left, _I reminded myself. _Nothing. _

_Nothing. _

There were people on the ground below, walking along the beach, hurrying home to their families and friends, desperate to get out of the chill and the rain. Because they had places to be, and people who cared. The looked like mere flecks from where I was, hardly like people at all. I thought of how Nathaniel would've pointed and laughed, so easily amused by things he did not understand. So much he did not get to experience, so much he would never know. And I thought of the ant-like people again, knew, my death would not affect them in the least. The rocks at the base of the cliff would even prevent my body from inconveniencing them.

The minute I'd stood up, I'd jumped off the cliff. The world went by in a haze of color and light, my weight accelerated head–over–heels. Then I thought: Falling is the first step in learning how to fly. And there was nothing more, I let myself be taken under, let the blackness envelope me.


	11. Book III

_"Everything will be okay in the end. If it's not okay it's not the end."_

_Veronica Mars_


	12. 1st Movement: Arabesque

**Author's Note: **Okay, this is the second time I'm adding this disclaimer here, hopefully it'll go through this time. I borrowed from breaking dawn. I'm not denying it, I'm not trying to skirt around it, so please, please please don't think that! I don't know why my authors note/disclaimer didn't go through the frist time around, but it didn't so, I'm trying again, both here and as a chapter in and of itself. I'm sorry my computer sucks and can't seem to save things properly. Lets hope it does this time.

**Everything from "Sharp, Defined" through "celestial dance" was taken from Breaking Dawn and is or very nearly is in orginal context.** **I'm not stealing this from her, nor do I want credit for writing it.** I've used her words for a specific purpose that will make itself evident in coming chapters. And onto the good stuff....

**Carlisle:**

The oddest sensation in the world is to see a body bag rolled past you, and to still be able to sense the heartbeat within, however faint. It happens more often than one would think, and more often than not, there's nothing to be done.

It broke my heart, but I couldn't stop it. I couldn't save everyone.

I was about to go off shift when the ambulance rolled into the lot, when the EMT's brought her in, covered head to toe with a sheet.

"She goes straight to the morgue." One of them muttered while the other was nodding slightly.

Even from across the room I could tell she, whoever she was, hadn't given up just yet. I swallowed hard knowing yet another one was going to slip past me.

"Who was she?" I asked them softly.

"Esme Platt- Evenson."

For a moment, my tongue glued itself to the roof of my mouth as the memories of a bright eyed girl with a broken leg and a free spirit came rushing back to me.

"What happened to her?"

"Jumped off a cliff. Her kid died the other day… and the couple that found her said she lost her husband in the war. Guess the poor thing didn't have much left."

"No." I whispered, overcome with sadness for her. "I guess she didn't think so anyway." I sighed audibly. "I'll take her downstairs guys; I'm headed in that direction anyway."

They nodded appreciatively, and took off; seemingly grateful for the extra free time they'd just gained.

And as soon as the coast was clear, I'd swept her frail and broken body into my arms and took off at lightening speed.

***

"Carlisle… are you sure about this?"

"I've met her before. Just before you. There was so much life in her eyes. Such a bright future. For her to be driven to suicide… it's awful. I'll see she has another chance."

Silence ensued, and it was as though I could feel him invading my mind, checking my thoughts.

"My god. You're in love with her."

I shook my head. "I don't even… More what she was, what she could've become. I don't know if that's still the case. But on the other hand, I can't imagine it being anything but. She was so strong, unshakeable."

"And beautiful." He added as an afterthought.

"Even then, as a child. Something, Edward, just … something about her."

Without another word, I bent over and sank my teeth deep into her jugular vein. The pain, I knew from experience would be incredible. And with her injuries, I wasn't completely sure she could be saved at all.

But I tried. And then, all I could do was wait.

***

I didn't need Edward's mind reading power to know what she was thinking when she opened her eyes. Because I remembered the sensations for myself. Everything would seem so clear.

Sharp.

Defined.

The brilliant light overhead must have seemed to be blinding-bright, and I knew she could plainly see the glowing strands of the filaments inside the bulb. I could see each color of the rainbow in the white light, and, at the very edge of the spectrum, an eighth color I had no name for, I wondered if she'd find it beautiful. Behind the light, she could distinguish the individual grains in the dark wood ceiling above. In front of it, she watched the dust motes in the air, the sides the light touched, and the dark sides, distinct and separate. They spun like little planets, moving around each other in a celestial dance.

I watched as the expression on her face changed from confusion to a slight smile of acceptance.

"I always knew, when I died, you'd be the first one I saw."

"You're not dead," I began to explain, quite calmly, and enjoyed it when she laughed. The sound was lyric, and seemed to cut some of the tension in the room.

"See, I must be. Because I jumped off a cliff. And you look exactly the same as you did nearly seven years ago. That just doesn't happen."

"You're not dead." I repeated. "You're a vampire."

She laughed again, but there was no amusement in her eyes now. "Dr. Cullen, you seemed to be a sensible enough man during our last meeting. You must know it's foolish to pretend such monsters exist."

I watched Edward wince at her usage of the term monster, and I let myself exhale, knowing from experience that getting my point across would take time.

"Tell me, what is it that you're feeling at the moment?"

Slightly startled by the sudden change of tactics, her eyes went wide, and she assumed a defensive position. But as quickly as she'd braced for attack, she realized there was no harm, and relaxed slightly.

"Honestly, I'm not sure. I'm feeling a lot. It's as if there's extra space in my head. So much to think about. And a dull roaring burn … like I'm thirsty."

Edward smirked, and suppressed a chuckle. I could only sigh. "You are thirsty. But, I can assure you, water won't quench this thirst."

Esme ran her tongue over her teeth, tasted her own venom, and nearly retched, fought off dry heaves.

"I… but why? I suppose I seriously misjudged you that afternoon, _Carlisle_. How could you do this? I don't want to kill! That's what vampires do, isn't it? Drink blood, Sleep in coffins?"

The words were barely out of her mouth before she'd lunged at me, teeth bared

I let her rage for a moment, and her teeth did connect with my marble flesh a few times. The pain was tolerable. I knew she needed to express the anger. And better at me than some innocent human.

"Why?" she repeated finally. "Why have you done this?"

I touched her shoulder gently, brushed a loose strand of hair away from her eye.

"Because. I saw your body, broken, mangled and destroyed, but I remembered the soul of a sixteen year old girl. One who climbed trees and saw dancers in the sky. It was too much to let go."

"She's long gone." Esme whispered, and for a moment, vanished into her own recollections.

"Not gone." I murmured. "Just dormant."

"How can you know?"

"When you're three hundred years old, you know a lot of things."

Her mouth fell open, and I felt the corners of mine turn upwards.

"Three hundred?"

"Well, not quite. 288, but who's counting." I responded with a wink.

"But you seemed so… gentle. So… well human. How can you take their lives?"

"I don't." I shrugged. "I get… we get" I gestured towards Edward "what substance we need from animal blood."

From the corner of my eye, I caught Edward's scowl. "We like to think of ourselves as vegetarians. But obviously, if you desire, you're free to choose your own way."

She bit her top lip, a pensive look spreading across her face. "I'm not going anywhere just yet. Let's see exactly what you're made of, Carlisle Cullen."

"I can't wait for you to find out." I joked playfully.

But the weird thing was, I meant every word of it.


	13. Author's Note Please Read

**Author's Note: **Okay, this is the second time I'm adding this disclaimer here, hopefully it'll go through this time. I borrowed from breaking dawn. I'm not denying it, I'm not trying to skirt around it, so please, please please don't think that! I don't know why my authors note/disclaimer didn't go through the frist time around, but it didn't so, I'm trying again, both here and as a chapter in and of itself. I'm sorry my computer sucks and can't seem to save things properly. Lets hope it does this time, because I was never trying to steal from Stephanie. I actually used her exact words on purpose, the reason for which will be revealed in the next chapter. I didn't do it because I was lazy, there was a reason. And this is what I get for not proofreading my work.

**I am truly sorry.**

I'd also like to take this chance to admit I've made some mistakes with the timline in this story. I screwed it up, and I know it. Some comments have been made about my carelessness in that area, and I'm fully admitting their validity. This story was orginally supposed to be a two or three shot, but its been so popular, getting so many reviews, it just got out of hand, and by the time I realized I'd screwed it up, I'd already written half the story and had the rest of it planned out. I decided to take a little bit of creative leeway, and change history.


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